The Jig Is Up (Thank God)
by followthattardis
Summary: A morning encounter in the bunker's kitchen leads to an interesting discovery.


This is my ode to Sam Winchester, who loves his brother and his best friend and would be happy for them if they ever got together.  
>This is my ode to Sam and Cas's friendship, which is wonderful and too often overlooked.<br>This is my "ummm nope" response to those who think Sam would be an envious jerk.

Dean doesn't appear in this fic; it's all about Sam and Cas, my two adorable idiots.

* * *

><p>Sam woke up at 7 am, not that there was anything wrong with that.<p>

He rolled out of bed and stretched, perhaps just a tad too enthusiastically for this hour of the morning. His backbone made a series of loud popping noises, running up from the base of his spine and causing that disgusting yet thoroughly satisfying click of vertebra against vertebra.

He dressed up quickly, not even bothering to swing by the bathroom or kitchen as he made his way through the bunker and outside into the cold, foggy morning. The air was surprisingly chill for mid-April, and he shivered, briefly considering going back inside to get a warmer jumped up and down a few times, the balls of his feet hitting the ground and sending faint tendrils of warmth up his muscles.

Okay. That's enough to go on.

A thirty-minute jog and a twenty-minute exercise routine later, Sam happily slid back into the safety of the bunker, going straight to the shower room. Eyes closed, he stood under the heavy stream of water, letting it beat the physical exhaustion out of his muscles.

As he stepped out of the shower, he glanced at his watch: 8:31 am. Dean wouldn't be up for at least another hour – or more, if he actually followed through with his plan of watching all three Indiana Jones movies in one go. Sam gave up midway through the second one, while poor Cas bravely chose to stay till the end, even though he a) knew all the movies already, thanks to Metatron, b) sulked a bit when Dean decided to watch them in chronological order instead of in order of release, and c) still couldn't understand why Dean insisted there were only three when _George Lucas and Steven Spielberg made four of them, Dean, it's a simple fact, there is really no point in denying it._

Sam smiled absent-mindedly as he remembered Cas's brow furrowed hardcore and Dean's exasperated monologue on how "THERE IS A REASON TRILOGY IS A THING. YOU SHOULD STOP AT THREE. JUST STOP." His smile widened even more when he recalled popcorn being thrown around as the argument about "gross biblical inaccuracies" heated up.

Some beer spilled on the couch aside, it was the kind of Saturday evening Sam really liked.

A thin layer of steam clung to the surface of the bathroom mirror, and Sam wiped it away thoroughly before he dressed up and directed his steps toward the kitchen. The corridors of the bunker were silent as Sam moved by rows of doors that lead to rooms they would probably never have any use for. Unless they decided to throw a huge hunter sleepover party one day.

Sam smirked as he pictured the look of inevitable horror Dean would give him if he suggested something like that.

He didn't really feel like going all Gordon Ramsay on his breakfast, so he just poured himself a glass of orange juice and a bowl of milk with cereal. True to habit, he ate with one hand holding the spoon and the other moving around the touchpad of his laptop, going through the usual freaky-accidents-that-have-supernatural-written-all-over-them check-up. There was nothing even remotely interesting on the first three sites, and he was about to open the fourth one when he heard a noise down the corridor.

He glanced down at his watch and shook his head in disbelief. It was barely a few minutes past nine o'clock. Must be a new record for Dean.

But when the steps approached, it was a dark, impossibly tousled bed head that appeared in the door.

Sam felt his lips stretch into an automatic grin. The sight was, quite frankly, endearing.

"Hi, Cas. Where did you come from? I thought you said you needed to leave after the movies. Something about a rogue angel to track down?"

Castiel hovered unsurely on the threshold of the kitchen, smiling feebly at Sam.

"Good morning, Sam. Yes, I did. I still do."

Cas didn't elaborate, and Sam didn't want to press him, so he just gestured to the chair next to him.

"Wanna eat something? I know you don't have to anymore… or… again, I guess, but-"

"No, thank you. But I'd love to sit with you for a while."

Sam nodded encouragingly, moving his laptop to his side of the table. As Cas came closer and slid onto the chair, Sam felt his eyes grow wide and his jaw drop.

Castiel was wearing dark pajama pants and a loose Zeppelin t-shirt, both of which definitely did not belong to him. His hair was even more of a mess from up close, sticking out in every possible direction as if he'd been attacked by a bunch of crazy hair stylists on LSD. But it wasn't Castiel's attire or his hair that made Sam doubt his own eyes.

There was a goddamn _constellation_ of red marks adorning Cas's neck. They were blooming over his Adam's apple and running the length of both his collarbones before disappearing under the material of his – Dean's – tee.

Sam blinked, his gaze slowly following the trace of hickeys left on Castiel's tanned skin. The hickeys that could have been given to him by only one person. A person with a big hopeless crush on a fedora-wearing, whip-wielding fictional archeologist and in vehement denial about the existence of the fourth movie.

Though it would seem that Dean had finally started to deal with the things he was in denial about.

"Cas," Sam began cautiously, trying to figure out how to approach the subject. "Did you… where did you sleep tonight?"

The question didn't sound very tactful to Sam's ears, but Cas didn't seem to be offended by it, or even bothered at all.

"I slept in Dean's room," he answered calmly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sam watched Cas fiddle with the pen he had found lying around on the table, eyes cast low and rigidly fixed on the object in his hand like if he looked away, the world would end. The gesture was very human, and so oddly not-Cas that Sam decided it was time he got some answers, tactfulness be damned.

"Did he give you those?" he asked gently, not even bothering to point in the general direction of Cas's collar. He thought the question was unambiguous enough.

Castiel rubbed his neck automatically, and it could have just been a figment of Sam's imagination, but he could have sworn he saw a slight blush accompanied by a faint smile before Castiel's expression molded into something neutral again.

"Yes."

Sam had expected that much, but the unequivocal confirmation still made him huff out a silent, disbelieving laugh. He didn't comment on Castiel's answer, giving him the time and opportunity to elaborate. Cas didn't take it, though, and Sam sighed when he realized he was going to have to settle for some good ol' teeth-pulling to learn more. Perhaps it would have been polite to drop the subject, especially since Cas didn't seem particularly keen to pursue it, but this was too important. This wasn't just prying into someone's private life; this was about Dean and Cas.

Screw it. There's a time and a place for good manners, but it's not now. Not when Sam can see his brother's goddamn _teeth marks_ on their mutual friend's neck.

"So, you guys made out?" Sam pushed on bravely. He asked himself whether he really wanted to know the answer to that (especially given Castiel's inclination to respond to everything with blunt honesty), but in the end he decided he could endure any graphic details Cas might choose to provide him with if only he could make sure the two morons finally sorted this out.

"I believe that would be the correct term, yes."

Holy shit. Okay. They got to first base.

"Did you… how did you–" Sam shook his head impatiently, irritated that words were failing him. For God's sake, _he_ was the eloquent one. He could do this.

"Would you consider me rude for asking how you ended up... doing what we've already established you were doing?"

Cas finally let go of the pen and lifted his eyes to look at Sam. He didn't seem insulted or upset by the question, and Sam gratefully accepted it as a small victory.

"I'm not sure," Cas said slowly.

"You're not sure if it was a rude question? Well, I wouldn't want you to–"

"No, I'm not sure how we ended up kissing. It was very strange. One moment we were arguing about the movie, and then Dean took my–"

"Okay, okay!" Sam interrupted quickly, waving his hands defensively. "I don't need the details. I just want to know if you talked about the implications of it."

Castiel blinked.

"Implications?"

"Yeah. You know, like, what it means for both of you. Like... labels? Declarations? No?" Cas's face was the very picture of confusion, and Sam started to get anxious. If Dean just used Castiel to relieve his libido, and then didn't even address the obvious change of status for their relationship, Sam was going to beat his stupid brother into a pulp.

"Cas. Did you and Dean talk about it at any point? During or after or... whenever?"

Sam expected Cas to frown, or sigh, or just avert his eyes again, so he was rather surprised by the strangely blissful look on his friend's face.

"We didn't really talk too much. Dean's mouth was otherwise occupied."

_Christ_.

"TMI, Cas. There's only one thing I need to know and then I'll be out of your hair. Just, please don't make me ask it again?"

Cas gave him a thoughtful look before leaning in and unceremoniously closing Sam's laptop to ensure he had his full attention.

"Sam. I greatly appreciate your concern, but even I know that these are private matters. What Dean said was meant for me, and I would like to keep it that way."

Sam felt himself blushing against his will. Great, now he's the resident creeper in this bunker.

"No, of course. Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just…" He saw Cas smile and it made him relax a bit. "I just wanted to make sure you guys were okay. You've been dancing around each other for so long, I expected there to be at least a freaking tornado or an earthquake when you finally… you know. Get together."

And there was the squint of confusion again.

"Why would Dean and I declaring our feelings for each other generate a natural disaster?"

For lack of a better reaction, Sam laughed out loud, like he hadn't laughed in a long time.

_Declaring our feelings_. Alright. So whatever happened before or after, they did talk about it. Clumsily or not, fumbling for words or rushing through them, laughing or stuttering – they got there. The two idiots finally got there.

"So you did. You did get together. Just say it for me."

Cas shot him a surprised look, but Sam ignored it.

"Come on, I just wanna make sure we're all on the same page. Indulge me, man."

Cas seemed to hesitate for a moment, wide blue eyes inadvertently darting towards the corridor that lead to Dean's room.

"I thought maybe Dean would prefer to tell you in person," he explained quietly.

Sam felt a surge of fondness so sudden it made him dizzy. Fuck, he was probably as sappy as Dean always accused him of being, but he couldn't bring himself to fight the affection growing in his chest just a little bit more every time Cas said something as stupidly considerate as this.

"If you wanted to keep it a secret until Dean told me himself, then you should have covered up those bites first," he teased. And before he had time to register he was moving, he pulled Cas out of his chair and into a hug.

(Dean would _never_ know about this.)

"Come on, hug back. I know you know how."

He felt Cas laugh quietly against his shoulder and envelop his long arms around Sam's back.

"I wasn't aware it's customary to congratulate people on such an occasion," Cas said against Sam's ear.

"Well, trust me, with you two I'd be ready to throw a freaking thanksgiving party."

They stood together in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other for longer than would be considered normal, but Cas didn't have much reference to go on, and Sam honestly didn't care. He had known for a very long time that if this thing between Dean and Cas ever worked out, it would make both his brother and his friend better, in every possible sense of the word. Sam couldn't really say when he'd first noticed the affection in Dean's eyes and the tenderness in Castiel's; he couldn't pinpoint the moment it became clear the feelings were mutual. He knew it for sure when Cas came back from Purgatory. And earlier, when Dean drank himself into oblivion after Cas walked into that lake, leaving nothing but a dirty trench coat behind. And earlier still, when he fought so desperately to keep believing in Cas despite all the incriminating evidence against him. And before that, when Castiel came flying from the battlefields of Heaven the second he heard Dean's prayers, always there at the service of a mortal man who shouldn't have any claim to his help, yet received it every time.

So really, could anyone blame Sam Winchester for expecting the world to shake in its foundations when after years of keeping a tight lid on their feelings, Dean and Cas finally reached out to each other? Shouldn't that glass through which they were always watching each other shatter into pieces now, sending an eruption of slivers everywhere? How could something so raw and slow-burning come to fruition so casually?

At last, Sam pulled away, but he held on to Castiel's shoulders and kept him at arm's length, eyes searching his face.

"There's one thing I need to tell you, Cas. And unlike congratulating people on their first make-out session, this one _is_ customary."

Cas inclined his head slightly, encouraging Sam to speak.

"I must warn you that if you ever hurt or take advantage of my brother's feelings, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to hunt you down and kill you," Sam said evenly, eyes fixed on Castiel's. "Copy that?"

Sam didn't really know what sort of reaction he'd expected, but it wasn't this. Cas grabbed his shoulders, mirroring Sam's own gesture, and effectively pinned him to the floor. He made sure to keep Sam's gaze as he leaned in, suddenly too close and too scary and as intense as when they'd first met.

"If I were ever to hurt him, you have my permission to do that."

Something warm and bittersweet settled in Sam's stomach at those words. The extent of feelings that must have underlain such a bold declaration was immense, and he realized that his self-indulgent speculations about the nature of Dean and Cas's relationship were nowhere near accurate. Cas wasn't crushing on Dean, he didn't like him, he didn't even love him. He was _in_ love, so deep that Sam couldn't help the little pinpricks of jealously he felt alongside the prevailing sense of contentment and happiness for the two people he cared most about. It was like the stuff of books Dean stole for him from public libraries when they were kids. Like the plot of movies they both laughed at when they curled up together on a motel bed, waiting for their father to come back from a hunt and trying not to think about what would happen to them if he didn't. It was ridiculous and extraordinary, and it made Sam's chest tight and his eyes watery in a way Dean would certainly label as "girly".

This was good. More than that; it was good enough.

Sam's arms dropped slowly, and all he could do was nod. Cas nodded back and let go of him just as suddenly as he gripped him, stepping back a bit and shuffling to the table. The moment seemed to be over, but Sam still stood transfixed, unable to process Cas's response. He knew that Dean was far gone only because he knew his brother better than himself, and could read him like an open book. But Castiel? Castiel had always been a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, and Sam would never venture to say he knows him or can see through his feelings.

This was the first definite proof, straight from the angel's lips.

"You look worried, Sam. Please don't be. I will be good to him, I promise. I will do everything in my power so that you won't have to act on your… your…."

"Threat," Sam supplied helpfully, his mouth stretching into a wide grin before he could do anything about it. "A lesson in humanity, Cas: it's what you do when somebody starts dating your sibling. You go talk to that person and make sure they know that should they treat your sibling bad, cheat on them or hurt them, there'll be hell to pay."

"So a threat is customary, but congratulations aren't?" Cas asked curiously, his fingers resuming the pen-juggling.

"It's... yeah, kinda," Sam laughed airily. He liked how easy it was for him to laugh when Cas was around. "If you want congratulations, go get married."

It was just an offhanded joke, but Sam should have known – jeez, he _really_ should have known by now – that there was no such thing as "offhanded" with Castiel.

"I will keep that in mind" was a serious reply Sam received, and he could practically feel his eyes trying to pop out of their sockets.

"No shit. You did– did you? You didn't!"

Cas only gave a secretive smile, his hand unconsciously wandering up to his neck again.

"You're screwing with me, aren't you," Sam said. No matter how disgustingly smitten Dean might be, this was going way faster than his brother's emotional constipation would allow.

Cas just shook his head, a smile still ghosting on his lips.

"Sam, I don't think Dean and I are ever going to get married. When one of the people in a relationship is an angel, the concept of holy matrimony and swearing your love before God becomes somewhat redundant. You must realize the obvious absurdity of the situation, given Dean's and mine backgrounds."

"Well, yeah, but your history doesn't mean you couldn't… I mean, if you both wanted to…" Sam stuttered, unsure why he was even pushing the idea.

"Marriage is a beautiful concept, but it's not for us," Cas said thoughtfully, watching Sam as he sat back at the table opposite him and resumed eating his abandoned (and totally soggy) cereal.

"I can't believe you two have actually talked about this," Sam said, wincing around a mouthful of cold milk. He put the spoon down. "I mean, it took you five goddamn years to work through your issues and on the day you finally get together you talk weddings?"

"You're jumping into conclusions, Sam. We haven't talked about weddings or marriage. We talked about our equivalent of it."

Sam frowned, tapping his spoon against the rim of the bowl.

"I'm not following."

"Dean is a hunter, and I am a fallen angel. It's not a recipe for a love story with a happy ending."

"It doesn't mean you can't want a normal life," Sam protested, a bit more vigorously than he intended to. He knew there were no happy endings in store for any of them, but it didn't mean he had learned to accept it. Sam thought perhaps he never would.

"No, but it means we are unlikely to get it," Cas answered gently. "There is no point in pretending."

"Then what the hell were you talking about? What's that 'marriage equivalent' of yours?" Sam asked, unable to contain his curiosity anymore.

The corners of Cas's mouth curved upwards again, and Sam thought he hadn't seen him smile this much in a long time, maybe never. That glint in his eyes might even be worth all the third-wheeling Sam was sure he was gonna do from now on.

Though to be honest, it's not like he hadn't been third-wheeling before. It would only be more explicit now.

"Well?" Sam prompted, jokingly poking Cas in the arm.

The angel's eyes went soft around the edges, his fingers grazing his neck for the umpteenth time. Like there was a memory lodged there that he could actually touch.

"He just asked me to stay. And I said yes."


End file.
